


What Was Different

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Flirting, Homophobia?, Jealousy, John's Curiosity, M/M, Party, Porn, Questions, Sherlock's Past, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's list of assumptions about gay relationships surprises Sherlock. So the detective decides to enlighten the doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Because I No Longer Do Doesn't Mean I Never Did

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock checked his watch. John was usually home by this time. Now Sherlock was annoyed. Not because he necessarily wanted or needed John to be home, it's just that he liked things being usual. Well, these type of things. Of course, Sherlock greatly loved unusual things and he smiled a little bit thinking about how John had had to adjust to that aspect of Sherlock's world -- the body parts in the fridge, the experimenting on corpses, the trickery that allowed them to go to places John probably never thought he'd go. Those things made Sherlock smile until he remembered he was actually annoyed. Annoyed because they'd established a pattern -- John left for work around 8 and was home around 6 -- and now that pattern had been broken. Sherlock also liked patterns. 

He checked his phone, but there was no message from John. Maybe something bad had happened to him? No, that was stupid. He tried to remember what Mrs Hudson had said about living with another person, that Sherlock had to remember that he was no longer in total control of the flat now. That had taken some getting used to, but Sherlock felt like he'd been doing all right. This was just an example of his not being in control of everything, and he'd just have to accept it. He opened his laptop and carried it to the sofa, where he pulled up his legs and started reading his emails. He tried not to keep looking at the time and wondering where John was. There was no trauma -- just a break in a pattern and Sherlock would surely survive it.

Every time the woman covered her face to blow her nose again John would glance at the clock on the wall behind her. He wanted to leave. This woman had been his last patient of the day and had come in for a persistent cough. And then she started crying and talking about how her wife was cheating on her with a man. John didn't know what to tell her. He didn't know this woman, he didn't know her wife, and really he just didn't care. All he could see was Clara crying about Harry and her drinking and her cheating, and he was exhausted with just the idea of it all. Somehow he got the woman up and, even though she was still crying, he guided her out of the office and on her way.

John grabbed his coat and hardly locked the door before leaving the office. He took a cab because it was already so late and he was hungry and he just wanted to get home. He hoped Sherlock had thought to heat up some leftovers for him or something. He walked in and tried to smell something in the air but there was nothing. He came in and went straight to the fridge to find some food.

Sherlock watched John come in but kept his relief to himself. "If you wanted me to make something for dinner, you should have just asked," he said, pretending he was focused on his email.

"I know. I forgot and I just hoped -- well, it doesn't matter because it won't take long to heat up."

Sherlock looked over at John. "I'm not good with hopes, you know. In future, you'll probably want to just be explicit about your expectations." He set the laptop to the side and moved to the kitchen. "Do you want to order something instead?" he asked, sitting down at the table. 

"If you want to, you can. This is already done," John said. He brought it to his chair and sank down, eating quickly.  
  
"I won't bother," Sherlock said, watching John scarf down the food. "What's up with you today? You seem to be eating even more . . . enthusiastically."

"I had an early lunch hoping to get out early and then my last patient ruined it," John said.

"You shouldn't let people wind you up," Sherlock said, picking a bit of food off of John's plate and eating it. "Was it something gross -- an open wound, a lot of pus?"

"I wish," John said. "She was just crying about her wife cheating on her." He rolled his eyes and mixed his food around a bit.

"Well that's what she gets," Sherlock said, sitting back in his chair.

"You mean because she's gay?" John asked. He thought about Harry again.

Sherlock looked up sharply. "No, obviously not because she's gay," Sherlock said. "I meant that's what she gets for getting married." He looked over at John closely. "What? Do you think all gay relationships are doomed or something?"

"In my experience I haven't seen a good one yet," John said honestly.

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "And you're basing this analysis on . . . ?"

"My sister. And some people she knows," John said.

"Your sister, the alcoholic? You don't think the alcoholism might be the reason behind the problem there? Really, John . . . you're saying you think gay relationships are more likely to be bad?"

John shook his head. "Based on what I have seen. I don't know of a good one."

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "You need to get out more." He got up from his own chair suddenly. "Actually, you don't need to even leave the flat," he added, moving over to the sofa. "I can provide you with ample evidence." He picked up the remote and turned on the television.

"You're going to find it on the telly?" John asked, watching. After putting his plate in the sink he followed and sat beside him.

"No, I mean I can tell you about it," Sherlock said, still looking at the television. "Just because I no longer do relationships doesn't mean I never did."

John paused as Sherlock's words processed in his head. "You dated a man before?" 

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "A few. And while the relationships were far from perfect, they were much 'healthier' than any relationship I've ever seen you in . . . at least they lasted longer than two dates." He turned his head over towards John. "Sorry," he said more softly. "I didn't mean . . . I'm just saying a person's gender had little to do with the success of any relationship." He looked back at the television. "Obviously, at this point, I think relationships are all really just a waste of time, but I don't like the idea of your thinking one type's any better than another."

"Well, I was just going on my experience of it all," John said. "What made you decide they were useless? It doesn't sound like the result of good relationships."

"I grew out of them," Sherlock said as if it were ridiculous John had even asked. "I have work -- a much better use of my time and energy."

"Oh. I suppose so," he said. He should have seen that answer coming from Sherlock. "Well, then there's one example."

"Wrong," Sherlock said. "At least three." He shifted a bit on the sofa. "John, you see patients all the time -- I'm sure some have good relationships, some don't. Look at people out on the street -- there's good and bad of every kind of relationship. I don't judge heterosexual relationships on your disastrous dates -- just don't . . . be stupid. All right?" He stood up and stretched a bit. "I think I might go read in my room. Do you care?" he turned round and looked at John.

"I am not being stupid! And if the only thing you had ever seen about heterosexual dating was me and 'disastrous dates' then you would probably feel the same way." John took the remote to find something else to watch since Sherlock was leaving.

"No, I wouldn't, John Watson, because I am an intelligent person who does not base his knowledge purely on personal experience," Sherlock said, turning around and pulling a face at him. "I was really hoping you'd somehow get more clever after living here awhile. Try to let some of me rub off on you, all right?" He headed to his bedroom. "You're working in the morning, right?" he called.

"I am working in the morning, yes," John said. “How come?”  
  
"I just like knowing," Sherlock said.

John stopped on a movie and then looked at Sherlock again. "I'm not stupid," he added, smiling lightly.

"Yeah, now that you've met me you're not," Sherlock said. He smiled back. "Good night," he said and disappeared into his room.


	2. Don't You Have A Therapist You Can Talk To?

John's blog was getting them a lot more cases, and Sherlock was grateful. He tried to show it, but he wondered if his way of showing gratitude was not getting through to John. It probably wasn't, because Sherlock knew he actually had no idea how to show John he appreciated him.

They had seen a client this morning, but Sherlock was pretty sure he already knew how that one would end. So he'd gone ahead and invited another one to the flat. The man had just left. Sherlock watched John jotting down notes. He smiled a little -- Sherlock had most of the information he needed filed away in his head, but John kept the notes for the blog and it made Sherlock feel like they were working together. It was kind of nice.

"You hungry?" he asked. "I was thinking I could take you to dinner and we could talk about his case."

"Yeah, that sounds good," John answered. When Sherlock got busy with cases he forgot to eat, which most of the time resulted in John not eating as well. "I could use a decent meal." He finished up his notes and put the notebook on the coffee table. "Are we leaving now?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "If you're ready." He stood up and moved to get his coat. He lifted John's off the peg and helped him on with it. They headed out. "Let's try here," Sherlock said, motioning to a newly-opened Japanese restaurant. "Might be interesting."

"Oh, this is new," John said, looking around the place.

Sherlock led them to a table. He looked at the menu. "I just wanted to treat you, I guess," he said. "Obviously the blog's been good for business -- just as you knew it would be -- and I just wanted to say thank you, I guess." He looked down at his menu.

"Oh, you don't have to," John said. "I get benefits from the website too."

"I'm trying to be nice, don't ruin it," Sherlock said. He looked over and smiled. He got a glass of wine when the server came to take their food order. "What are these so-called benefits you get anyway?"

"The excitement of going on cases with you," John said. "It's fun." 

"Don't try to out-nice me, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Not fair -- you'll always win." He took a drink when he got his wine. "Okay, enough niceness, let's talk about this case." 

"The case, right. Which one exactly, so I can keep up?" John asked.

"The gay guy -- the first one'll be easy," Sherlock said.

"What? We didn't see any gay guys today," John said, trying to think back to the clients. Had he missed something?

"The second one, the guy with the missing photographs," Sherlock said. The food came and Sherlock picked up a piece of sushi and popped it into his mouth.

"He wasn't gay!" John said, starting on his own meal.

"You mean because he has a wife?" Sherlock said, laughing a little. "Trust me -- he was gay. He may be trying to convince himself he's bi, but he's not. He's gay. That, however, is irrelevant to the case."

"Sherlock, he's not gay! Why would a gay man marry a woman?"

"Oh, god, John, you're getting stuck on a totally unnecessary detail," Sherlock said. "There are tons of reasons a gay man might marry a woman. First off, as I said, he could be bisexual, though I'm pretty sure he's not but maybe he wants to think he is. Maybe he thinks he has to marry a woman to fit into his family or his professional life or maybe she's rich or maybe she's a lesbian and they've got some kind of complicated arrangement set up which really isn't any of our business. Why are you so hung up on this?"

"I'm just curious. Why would he enter a relationship that he knows will make him unhappy? What's the point?" John ate another piece of sushi. "I mean . . . is he still seeing other men?" 

"Why? Are you interested in him?" Sherlock said. "I don't know the answers to these questions, John. Who says he's unhappy? Maybe he gets something from his marriage and gets sex elsewhere or maybe he doesn't, I don't know and I really don't care. I'm more interested in the photographs. Don't you have a therapist you could talk to about this other stuff?"

"I told you I'm just curious. And that's another messed up relationship, by the way. I just don't understand," he shrugged. Did his wife know? Or did he lie to her when he left the house to sleep with men?

"God, why are you so judgmental? Are you just looking for a reason to put down gay people? What is your problem?" Sherlock took another sip of wine. "Can I ask you a favour, please?"

"I'm not!" John looked up and willed Sherlock to understand. "I am not putting them down. I don't have a problem. I am just curious." He fiddled with his food for a moment before nodding at Sherlock's question.

"If you are doing some investigation on the sexual habits of every person you've ever met, do you mind keeping it as a side project? It's very distracting," Sherlock said. He pulled a little face at John. The waiter came to check on them. Once he'd gone, Sherlock said, "What about him? Does he seem gay and miserable or heterosexual and happy?"

John rolled his eyes. "There's no need to make fun of me," he said. "This is all just . . . like that time Mrs Hudson's sister was sick and you asked about whether or not she was an organ donor. It was awful, but you didn't understand why when you said it. Well, I don't understand this."

"But you do understand it, John, that's the point I'm trying to make," Sherlock said. "You look at some woman and fancy her. It'd be the same if you were gay -- you'd just be looking at a man and fancying him." He looked over and smiled a little. "I'm sorry . . . I see what you're saying and I know you help me when I don't understand things. But you do understand this one, you're just getting hung up on one little difference."

"But it's not a little difference. I wouldn't marry some man and then keep running off with women. And I wouldn't cheat on him with women. It's just . . . I don't know why they do that."

"Yeah, but if you were married to a woman, you wouldn't run off with another woman," Sherlock said. "Cheating doesn't have anything to do with sexuality."

John sighed and pushed his plate away. "Can we stop talking about this now? What about the actual case?"

"Hold on," Sherlock said. "Who says that’s what gay men do anyway? Maybe some marry women and cheat with men, but it's not part of the deal. We don't even know this guy does it. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he's not gay." Sherlock knew he wasn't wrong, but he was struggling with what precisely was happening in this conversation. "And besides . . . you moved in with me and all you do is run off with women. It's practically the same." He smiled a little. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to upset you."

"We are not the same! We're friends. Friends are allowed to date other people," John protested.

"John," Sherlock said. "I was teasing. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He ate another piece of sushi. "Do you like your food?"

"Yeah, it's good. This can be one of our regular places," John said. He was glad they had stopped talking about the gay man. They weren't understanding each other, and he didn't like fighting with Sherlock.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Finally Sherlock said, "Do you have any questions you'd like to ask me?"

John looked up. "About what? The case?"

"I mean about the other stuff, the gay stuff," Sherlock said. "The gay lifestyle," he added, making air quotes. "If you are basing your opinion of gay relationships on the negative ones you've seen or, in the case of our client, imagined, you could at least give me an opportunity to offer evidence of alternatives."

John sighed and sat back in his seat. "Well . . . how did you know? I mean, how did you first know you liked boys instead of girls?"

"Probably the same time you realised you liked girls instead of boys," Sherlock said. "Of course, for me, it might have been a little different since it's unusual for me to like people in general. But I know what you mean. I guess I just knew it all along."

"And . . . you just knew other boys that felt the same way? Do you automatically . . . I mean, if you're the only two you just get together?"

"It's not like there's a group of twenty people and the two who are gay just automatically couple up," Sherlock said. "When you meet a woman, you don't know if she's interested in you or in men or in anyone. You just meet someone and if you like them and they like you, that's how it happens. Just like with you and women." He glanced around the room quickly. "A gay man might like a man who isn't gay but he also might meet a man who is gay but doesn't like him. It's not all that different."

John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "So, who does the asking or pays on the date?" His voice had gone a bit quiet now because he felt a bit stupid. Why was he having such a hard time getting this? Sherlock said it was the same, but it wasn't really.

"The richest one pays," Sherlock said, smiling. "That stuff doesn't matter, John, just like -- if you're honest -- it doesn't matter with men and women. If I ask, I usually pay, like I'm going to do tonight -- not that this is a date, of course. I promise you, it's not that different." 

"I suppose that makes sense," John admitted. 

"Look," Sherlock said, reaching over and touching John's arm lightly before pulling back his hand. "Maybe I shouldn't have teased you like that. I was just . . . surprised by your confusion. Your sister isn't the only gay person in the world and, as I said before, most of her troubles come from her alcoholism, not her sexuality." He took a sip of wine. "I don't mind answering your questions -- just because all that is no longer a part of my life doesn't mean I'm ashamed of it. I'm not and I don't want you to be ashamed of it or me either." 

"I'm not ashamed of you!" John said quickly. "If anything, this information makes you seem more human."

"Well, let's not get carried away, John."

"Anyway," John said, after taking a bite of food. "Thank you for answering my questions."

"If you have any more questions, I'll answer them," Sherlock said. "Obviously I don't speak for everyone but I'd rather you turn to me than say the _Daily Mail_ for your queries on homosexuality." He pulled a little face and then smiled. "Now about the case . . ."

They talked through what they knew and Sherlock's early theories. Once they'd finished dinner, they walked back home and Sherlock got on his laptop and started researching.

Back at the flat John got on his blog and started a draft for the case, typing up what they knew already and saving it for later. 

They worked for a little while and then Sherlock noticed the time. "It's late, John," he said. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I do," John said, glancing at the time himself. He stretched and closed his computer. "I'm going to bed."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I might work a little longer. It was a good day, don't you think? Two cases, thanks to the blog." He got up to make himself a cup of tea before he moved back to his desk to keep working.

John went up to his room and got ready for bed. As he lay down and tried to sleep, he thought about everything Sherlock had told him at dinner. It was odd that Sherlock was the relationship expert. He couldn't even imagine Sherlock in a relationship.

He turned on his side and closed his eyes, imagining Sherlock in a relationship with a faceless man. Sherlock flirting, taking the man out, cuddling on the sofa for a movie -- he couldn't see it. For an instant, just one second, the faceless man had John's face.

His eyes opened wide. He took a deep breath and punched his pillow in a better position.


	3. I'm Not Interested In Married Men

While John worked at the surgery the next few days, Sherlock was out researching and gathering information. In the evenings, they worked together -- John providing the emotional, practical details that Sherlock often seemed to miss. The man had explained that the missing photographs had belonged to his great uncle and were of sentimental value, but it turns out they were also worth quite a bit of money. John presumed the man had been unaware of this, but Sherlock wasn't entirely convinced.

At the weekend, Sherlock was almost entirely sure where they'd find the photographs and they set out early Saturday morning to do just that. And they did.

On the ride back to London, he was feeling quite pleased about it all. "Good work, Doctor Watson," he said.

"I hardly did anything but thank you," John smiled. "Maybe we can go out and celebrate tonight?"

"Don't be daft," Sherlock said. "We never would have even had the client if he hadn't seen the blog." He stared out the window for a few minutes. "It was a good adventure, yeah? I hope you weren't disappointed that there were no dead bodies." He turned to look at John and smiled. 

"I think you might be," John teased. "I thought it was a good adventure."

"Next time maybe," Sherlock said. "Let's see if we can get him to come round and finish it all off and then we can go out for dinner, yeah?" He got out his phone to find the man's phone number.

"Yeah, that sounds good," John nodded.

Sherlock sent the man a text and then a few moments later told John the man would meet them at the flat around five. They sat quietly for the rest of the journey.

When they got back Sherlock arranged all the information and then decided to take a quick shower. Afterwards he made some tea and waited for their client to arrive.

John got back on the blog to finish typing up the rest of the case. Now that John knew about the man's lifestyle, he wondered if he'd be able to see it when he arrived. 

Sherlock set a mug down next to John's chair. A few minutes later, there was a noise at the door. He got up and brought the man in.

"You found them?" the man asked. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, but didn't get up to retrieve them yet. "You didn't quite give us the full picture, did you?"

The man sat down. "I don't know what you mean," he said.

Sherlock looked at him. "I think you do."

"You mean because they're valuable?" he said. "That's not why I want them."

"I'm sure," Sherlock said. He glanced over at John.

John was taking notes as they were speaking, looking up at the man. He still couldn't see it. "You expect us to believe this was all purely sentimental?" he asked.

"What difference does it make?" the man said. "They belong to me, I have a right to them whatever my motivation."  
  
"Correct," Sherlock said and he got up and brought the packet over to the man. "It just would have been helpful to have known everything at the beginning. It would have saved a lot of wasted time and effort."

"Well," the man said, putting the packet into his briefcase and pulling out his cheque book. "I'm happy to pay for your time and effort." He wrote out a cheque and passed it to Sherlock. "Thank you, Mr Holmes," he said, watching as Sherlock slid it into his pocket. "I've found your services extremely satisfying."

"Good," Sherlock said. "And if we're required again, I trust you'll give us everything we'll need from the start?"

"I certainly will," the man said. He stood up and reached out to shake Sherlock's hand. Sherlock stood up as well. "Thank you again, Mr Holmes."

"And Dr Watson," Sherlock clarified.

"Of course," the man said but didn't look over at John. "Thank you" He took his case and left.

John watched them as Sherlock got up to lead the man out. Now he could see it. John could see it now because the man was lingering, smiling too much, holding Sherlock's hand for too long. He was flirting with Sherlock.

Sherlock took the cheque out of his pocket and handed it to John. "There you go," he said, moving to the kitchen to turn the kettle on again. "One more cup and then we can go get dinner, yeah?"

"He was flirting with you," John said, looking over at Sherlock.

"You're obsessed, aren't you?" Sherlock said. "He was not." He poured a cup of tea for each of them and brought one to John. "I've changed my mind anyway," he said as he sat down. "He's not gay." Of course, Sherlock hadn't been wrong and, of course, Sherlock had noticed a vibe coming off the man. But he didn't want John to get weird or upset or whatever word described the way John felt about the whole issue. He tried to change the subject. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"He was, Sherlock. I know the signs. They were . . . it's the same, like you said." John closed the computer and picked up his mug. "And we haven't had Italian in a while let's have that."

"Well, I guess you're the expert now," Sherlock said. "Doesn't matter -- I'm not interested in married men," he added, pulling a bit of a face. "Angelo's is fine. We won't spend our entire profit there."

"I was just pointing it out," John said as he stood. "Are you ready now?"

"Yeah, let's go," Sherlock finished his tea and stood up. "Come on." He grabbed his coat, and they headed out.

At the restaurant John ordered a bottle of wine for their celebration, telling Sherlock that he was going to treat since it was his idea. Halfway through the meal Sherlock had glanced behind John and he turned to look, seeing a couple come in and sit a few tables away. Had Sherlock been checking the man out? John looked at the man again. He wasn't that handsome. He huffed and focused on their conversation, bringing Sherlock's focus back to him by talking about maybe posting the story tonight.

In the end they had a nice dinner and they walked home. "I think I'll go up to my room to finish the case," John said.

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll check my email -- maybe there will be another case for us, since we're on a bit of a roll." He looked over at John. "You going up for the night?"

"Yeah, I am," John nodded, picking up his laptop. "I'll see you in the morning. Good night." He walked up stairs and got ready for bed, pulling up the draft and adding the final touches. He was working late into the night. After a while, he fell asleep with the computer open and beside him on the bed.

He slipped into a dream. It was the image he had seen the other night with Sherlock cuddling on the sofa with a faceless man. And then they were kissing. But when Sherlock shifted and deepened the kiss, the faceless man was John again, kissing him back eagerly and tearing at his clothes. Sherlock tore at John's, things were flying across the sitting room and they were moaning -- John woke with a start and sat up quickly.

He couldn't have been dreaming that. There was no way. But now . . .his curiosity was piqued. What would have happened if he had stayed asleep? He realised he was hard and he bit his lip, staring at his closed door. He knew how men had sex technically but . . .

He pulled the computer close and looked up gay porn. He bit his lip as he turned the sound low and clicked on one. He fast forwarded to the middle and one man was pushed over the sofa arm as the other thrust into him. They zoomed in and John stared, transfixed. He clicked on another and another. They were all so rough. Hard and fast and loud grunting -- in his fascination he forgot that most porn was like this, overdramatised for effect.

Before he knew it he was coming in his pants. He shut the computer hard and covered his mouth. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight.


	4. It's Different With You

In the morning, Sherlock got up and made some tea. He didn't hear anything from John's room so he sat down at the desk to check his email again. No new cases yet. He looked up at John's room and then checked the clock. He got up and poured a cup of tea for John and walked upstairs. He knocked on the door. "John?" Sherlock said. "Do you have work today or what?"

John had only just dozed off a couple hours ago and he started awake now, staring at the door. He felt guilt squirm in his belly and he opened the computer, closing all of the pages before anything played out loud. "Um, no," he called back. "I'm not working today." He rubbed his face hard and took a deep breath. 

"I've got tea," Sherlock said. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Um . . ." John looked around to make sure there was nothing incriminating. He covered himself up better and moved the computer to the floor. "Yeah, you can."

Sherlock pushed the door open and brought the tea over to John. He sat down on the other side of John's bed. He reached for John's laptop. "Did you write up the photographs one?"

John took the computer from Sherlock and nodded. "Posted it last night. We can go down and see it on your computer. Mine died," he said.

"All right," Sherlock said, but he didn't get up. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and then took a sip of his tea. "No new cases yet," he said. "How do you want to spend the day?"

John watched him for a moment and he couldn't stop thinking about his dream, about the things he had watched last night. "I don't know. I didn't have anything planned really. Did you?" 

"I was thinking that I could mainly lie around doing whatever I want," Sherlock said, stretching out and leaning back. "And you could keep my mug full without annoying me in any way. What do you think?" He looked over and smiled.

"You are not going to lie here and have me be your . . . your tea slave," John laughed. 

"That's an outrageous claim," Sherlock said. "I thought you enjoyed looking after me. . . . that hurts, John."

"Looking after you and waiting on you hand and foot are very different things," he smiled. 

"Well, have you got another suggestion then?" Sherlock said. "I suppose you want me to be your slave instead?"

"No thank you," John said, looking over at him. "Maybe we can do something we both enjoy."

"Like what?" Sherlock said. "What do we have in common?"  
  
"Hmm. That's a good question," John half teased.

Sherlock said. "Well, I'm lying here until you come up with something . . . and I'll need a top up of my tea soon." He closed his eyes and leaned back.

John sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "Is it nice out? Maybe we can go for a walk," he said.

"A walk sounds good," Sherlock said. He drank the last of his tea and then stood up. "You should shower, though," he said. "No offense but it kind of stinks in here." He took John's mug from him and went down to the kitchen to wash up before going into his room to get dressed.

John took a big breath when Sherlock left, but he didn't smell anything. Then again he'd also slept in it all night. He double checked that his history was cleared before getting up to take a quick shower. When he was dressed he came down to the sitting room. "The park work for you?"

"Sure, why not?" Sherlock said. He got up and grabbed his coat. "Do we have a specific goal for this walk or will we just be 'enjoying the scenery'?" he asked, slipping his scarf around his neck.

"We'll be enjoying the scenery and passing the time," John said. "It's just something to do." 

"I'm only teasing -- I don't mind. Walking is good for thinking," Sherlock said once they were out on the street. "Have you got a date tonight? You usually have dates on your nights off if we don't have a case."

"No. I haven't met anyone recently," John pointed out. "You know that."

"I never know with you," Sherlock said, glancing over and smiling. "You seem to find them in unusual situations -- you might pass someone on the street and then you've got a date with them."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "Um, can I ask, why did you really give up on relationships?"

"You know why," Sherlock said, not looking over. "I need to focus on my work. I like to focus on my work."

"No, I mean, the real reason. You focus on work and we're very close friends. You can have both," he pointed out. 

"But it's different with you," Sherlock said. "It's . . . easier."

John's brows furrowed lightly. "Were your relationships all hard?" Sherlock had used himself as the example that not all homosexual relationships were awful but now it didn't seem like that was the case. Had he lied to prove a point?

"Are you trying to catch me out, John Watson?" Sherlock said, glancing over and smiling. "Those relationships were like any other, I'm sure -- sometimes easy, sometimes difficult. But essentially distractions from my work, which is what I find most important in my life. With you, though, it's different. Our relationship is not a distraction."

"So our relationship is as important as your work?" John asked, smiling and nudging Sherlock's arm. "But we're just friends, so I guess it's different."

Sherlock thought about the words he'd said to John and then said, "Yes, we are different." He looked up ahead and then said, "We're here. Are we sitting down or continuing on?"

"If we sit down you'll be bored again," John smiled. "Let's keep walking while you tell me about your relationships." 

"Why do you want to know?" Sherlock asked, sighing a little. "They're not important in my life."

"But they were once," John said. "I just want to know about them."

Sherlock looked over at John as they walked and then grabbed his arm and stopped. "I don't think that'll be necessary, John. They weren't important really -- if you're wondering if something happened that put me off relationships or shaped the man I am, I can assure you that it was nothing like that. When I was dating, I was exactly the man I am now -- except younger and therefore less dedicated to my work. That's all. That said, please do not think that my reluctance to talk about them means they're secret in any way, they're not and perhaps one day they might come up in conversation or whatever. But I feel like going on about them now gives them more importance than they deserve. Our friendship -- that's the only relationship that matters to me now, okay?" He made a little smile and walked on.

"Okay. As long as you don't get sick of me or anything," John teased. He reluctantly changed the subject and had Sherlock deduce things about people they passed as they made their way back to the flat. John tried as well and failed miserably. Sherlock was definitely no longer bored. Back at the flat John went into the kitchen to start the kettle and to make lunch. "Check the blog and see if the new case brought any more hits."

Sherlock checked his inbox. There were a couple possibilities, though nothing looked too challenging. He sent off quick replies. He checked the blog -- the new case had received a lot of hits and there was a comment of thanks for the man. "Your boyfriend left a comment," he said, closing his laptop and moving to the sofa to wait for his tea.

"Excuse me?" John asked, coming into the sitting room with two mugs of tea and a sandwich for himself. 

"He couldn't stop talking about your lovely eyes," Sherlock said, laughing a little at himself. "Where's my lunch?"

"You never eat," John said, breaking off half of his sandwich and offering it to Sherlock. "And I'm sure it was your eyes -- he was all over you."

"Aha! I thought you said he was straight," Sherlock said.

"No! I told you that you were right when he was flirting with you," John reminded him. 

"Fine, he was in love with me, I'll give him a call and we'll run away together and then you'll have all your gay curiosity satisfied," Sherlock said. He got up and got a piece of bread to eat.

"I was trying to share my sandwich!" he called after Sherlock. "And you can't run off because I might have more questions."

"Fine, I'll stay," Sherlock said. "I don't want your sandwich." He went back and flopped onto the sofa.

"Okay, good," he said. He went back to eating quietly for a bit. When he finished he flipped through the channels to find something to watch, glancing over at Sherlock who was lying down with his eyes closed. John studied him for a moment, his eyes tracing along his body. 

Sherlock went inside his brain. He thought of a few memories from his relationships, mainly the way they ended. He remembered the things that Victor had said and then decided to leave that memory. Instead he thought about the day he and John had met. That was a nicer memory. After a little while, he opened his eyes and looked over at John. "This show is boring," he said.

John looked at the telly quickly and nodded. "Yeah, I noticed you were gone," he said, hoping that explained the staring. "Molly texted and said she'd having a party next weekend."

"Well, have fun," Sherlock said. He rolled over on the sofa, folding his arms and snuggling in to take a little nap.

John looked him up and down and then to the telly again. "No, we're both going," he said. 

"John," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes closed. "Don't make me go."

"She's your friend too, Sherlock," John said. 

"Fine, I'll go and be surly and maybe get drunk and then you'll have a horrible time since I'll be having a horrible time," Sherlock said.

"I'll just get drunk too and not care how you're acting," John shrugged. 

Sherlock smiled. "I look forward to it. Now stop talking. I'm sleeping."

John rolled his eyes and went to get his computer, opening it carefully and then browsing his blog, replying to comments left on posts. 

Sherlock slept for a while and then opened his eyes. He looked up but John was still there. "Hi," he said sleepily. "Anything exciting happen?" He turned on the sofa but didn't get up yet .

"No. My movie ended. I put the news on and answered some comments. That's all," he said. 

"What are we doing this evening? Something interesting, something boring or nothing?"

"I picked earlier. Now you pick," John said. 

Sherlock sat up. "Why don't you tell me about your relationships?" he said.

"There's nothing to tell. You know about all of my dates -- you can see every detail when I walk in the door," he said. 

"Boring," Sherlock said. "Do you want to watch a film or something?"

"Sure, but let's put a proper one in the player because there's nothing on the telly," John said. "And just because you don't do it anymore doesn't mean it's boring." He got up to pick a movie and heat up some leftovers for dinner. He wondered if Sherlock would ever change his mind back.

"You're enough for me to handle," Sherlock said. He waited for John to bring the food as he grabbed the remote to skip over the previews.

"What do you mean? Our friendship is enough that you don't need . . . more?" John asked, finishing the question awkwardly as he regretted halfway through asking it.

"That's precisely what I mean," Sherlock said. "Think about it -- you cook my food, keep my house, and physically exhaust me. What else is missing?" He glanced up at John and wondered if he'd answer, but then decided not to give him the chance. "The movie is starting."

John was a bit offended that Sherlock thought of him as basically a personal servant, but it wasn't worth the argument. He let it go and settled back to watch the movie, eating quietly.

Sherlock picked a bit at his food as he tried to pay attention to the film. When John finished eating, Sherlock took their plates into the kitchen and did the washing up. He returned with two cups of tea. "Here," Sherlock said. "Now you can't complain that I'm lazy when we go to couples counselling." He smiled and settled back onto the sofa. "Isn't this film over yet?"

"It's very clearly still playing," John said, sipping at his tea. He slouched a bit more into the sofa and sighed as he got more comfortable. "It's almost done," he added.

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to the film. It was boring so he listened to John breathe instead. He liked that John was here. "I like that you're here," he said. "Today was a good day even though we didn't have any cases."

John flushed lightly and finished his tea. "It was a good day," he agreed.

Sherlock got up and brought this laptop over. "You working tomorrow?" he asked, looking through his email. "There's a couple of possible cases but nothing complicated."

"Yes, I am. Anything we have to run around for?" John asked.

"Not necessarily," Sherlock said. "I might meet one or two and I'll text you if I get out of my depth, okay?" He looked over and smiled.

"Don't tease," John said, smiling softly. "Just let me know."

"Well, maybe I was teasing a little," Sherlock said. "But don't act like you don't know how much you help me. I know you know. But I still like to tease a little."

John looked over at him and finally smiled lightly. "I am going to bed. I will see you when I get home. And start mentally preparing for that party," he added as he got up.

"I'll go to bed as well. And I'll see you when you get home," Sherlock said. "But nothing could mentally prepare me for a party." He closed up his computer and set it on his desk, getting one more cup of tea and taking it to his bedroom. He set it on the bedside table and changed into his pajamas before climbing into bed. 

John went up with his computer and settled into bed. He didn't look at any videos again but he did look up information, reading about proper prepping and prostate stimulation. Had Sherlock had sex in his relationships? John tried to picture Sherlock doing the things he'd seen the night before, but it was difficult. That night he dreamt about having sex with Sherlock again.


	5. Are We Done Fighting Now?

John worked every day of the next week so he could have the whole weekend free. The cases coming in were too easy for Sherlock to even bother leaving the flat. John listened to each one and wrote them up during the evenings at home. He kept reminding Sherlock about the party so that when the day finally came he couldn't say he'd deleted it.

Even though the cases weren't difficult, Sherlock was glad to be busy and he liked spending the evenings with John writing them up. The blog was definitely good for business -- Sherlock wondered if John would consider one day reducing his hours at the surgery to devote more to their work together. Which he realised was probably kind of stupid: if anything this week showed that Sherlock could do a lot of the work on his own. But he no longer thought of John as just his blogger, and he found himself wishing John was around during the day as well.

However, John's continual mention of the party was beginning to grate on Sherlock's nerves, though he tried not to let on. Before he'd even met John, Molly was always inviting Sherlock to social things and he never went because he usually found them boring and annoying. That had worked fine: Molly invited, Sherlock said no, all was well. John, however, threw a kink in that. Sherlock imagined his text exchanges with Molly -- all eager and hopeful about how fun the party would be. And implied in all of John's talk was that it would be John and Sherlock, that they'd both be happy to come, that they'd both have fun. 

So the morning of the party Sherlock got up a little early, got dressed and wrote out a note for John explaining that he'd been called away by Mycroft and wouldn't be back until late that night. John should send his apologies to Molly. Sherlock sealed the letter and left it on the table and then moved to the door to get his coat.

John was up early from his odd dreams again, and he heard movement down in the sitting room. He got up and put on his dressing gown before heading down. "Sherlock? Where are you going?" John asked when he spotted him at the door.

Sherlock sighed loudly. He kept putting his coat on, though, and said, "Sorry -- gotta go. I left a note for you, won't be back until late." He was trying to rush out before John was totally awake and thinking clearly.

"For what? Is there a new case?" John asked, coming closer to Sherlock.

"Yes -- no, um, it's family stuff," Sherlock said, moving to open the door. "I'll be back late, well after you need to leave for the party so . . ."

John narrowed his eyes. Two could play this game. "So, you're just going to ditch me?" he asked quietly, looking down. "I mean . . . if it's an emergency . . . I'll see you later." He turned and headed back up the stairs slowly.

God, John's guilt trips were incredibly annoying -- mainly because they were incredibly effective. "Fine, forget it," Sherlock said, taking off his coat. "Don't gloat." He moved to the kitchen, grabbing the envelope and sticking it in his pocket. "Want me to bring you up tea?" he called, clicking the kettle on.

"No thank you, I will be down shortly," John said, not turning to face Sherlock because he was, in fact, smiling very smugly. He took a quick shower and changed his clothes before coming down, pouring himself a mug of tea.

Sherlock took his tea and flopped down on the sofa. "It's not very nice to he manipulated by your friend first thing in the morning, you know," he muttered.

"You're one to talk with your fake family emergency," he said quietly.

"Are you going to continue picking on me all day? Are you going to be picking on me at the party?" Sherlock said, now in full pout mode.

"Don't be like that," John said. "I was teasing. But you tricked me."

"There's a difference," Sherlock said. "You like when I trick you."

"I don't know what's given you that impression," John said laughing. "I certainly don't."

"Lie," Sherlock said. "I hear you upstairs in your room at night, dreaming of me -- you don't realise that you talk in your sleep -- I can't count the times I've heard you call out 'Trick me, Sherlock, please!' in the middle of the night." He laughed a little at himself.

John flushed when Sherlock mentioned dreaming about him, and he dropped the last of his tea in his lap. He swore and stood to clean up. "I do not," he said as he went into the kitchen. 

"Well, you should," Sherlock said. "Look, can I ask you seriously, are you going to be a prick to me at this party tonight?"

"I really don't understand why you keep asking me that," John said from the kitchen. He was so frazzled it came out more sharply than he meant to. Had Sherlock been joking about the dreams? What if he really was talking or moaning out loud?

"Because I don't want you to be," Sherlock said. "I don't like being around people I don't know and sometimes . . . you go along with them when they make fun of me. I don't care what other people think but . . ."

"I do not!" John came out of the kitchen and looked at Sherlock. "Do you really feel that way?"

"You have kind of sometimes," Sherlock mumbled. "I see them look over at you when I speak . . ." He sat up properly and finished his tea. "It doesn't matter. Just don't be mean. Especially since I'm going to be incredibly drunk and even extra obnoxious. I'll need you to look after me." 

"If they have looked over at me, I have never encouraged them and I am very hurt that you think I would." John disappeared into the kitchen for a moment to finish washing his glass. "I need to go change my trousers. I am not going to be mean, okay?" 

"Fine, you've promised now which means if I determine that you do anything mean, you owe for forty thousand pounds," Sherlock said. He got up and moved to his desk, opening his laptop and checking his email.

John sighed and headed up to his room to change. "I won't owe you anything," he said in his normal voice, waiting to see if Sherlock had heard him. There was no reply. Was he just ignoring John? How loud did John talk in his sleep? Did he even talk at all or was Sherlock spouting nonsense? He couldn't risk Sherlock finding out about the dreams he'd had. When he changed he came back down and cleaned up the sofa before sitting down again and putting the news on to pass some time. 

Sherlock watched John go up and then watched him come back down. "I heard what you just said up there," Sherlock said. "And if you think I'm going to fall for that, you've got another thing coming."

John's cheeks flushed again and he merely turned up the telly without saying anything. 

"So you're planning on ditching me and hooking up with someone tonight?" Sherlock said.

"That's not what I said up there," John said. 

"It is. I heard you," Sherlock said. "You were on the phone plotting with Molly about hooking up with some friend of hers and then all of you will laugh when Sherlock is left alone. I know your game."

"I really hope that you're joking, Sherlock. And if you are being mean because of what I did this morning I'm sorry. I'm sorry I tricked you into feeling bad, I'm sorry I want you to go to the party with me, and I am sorry you think I am such a 'prick'." He stood up again and went into the kitchen to drink some water. 

"God, I'm just joking," Sherlock said, following him into the kitchen. "It's a party, right? We're supposed to be having fun. I'm trying to have fun." He made an obnoxious smile. "See? Fun."

"By making me feel bad?" John asked. "The very thing you're accusing me of plotting to do, by the way." 

"How am I making you feel bad? I'm just joking," Sherlock said. "Obviously I know you weren't plotting with Molly. I can't hear anything from your bedroom, and I doubt you'd do that anyway. It was a good joke, wasn't it?"

John opened his mouth for a moment before closing it with a long sigh. "Well . . . you got me. So yeah, I guess it was a good joke."

Sherlock reached over and pinched John's arm. "It's just easy to be around you," he admitted. "I don't like being around other people." He moved back over to his desk.

John watched him walk out of the kitchen again and sighed softly. "I'm not going to ditch you," he said. He clenched his fist, released it, ruffled Sherlock's hair quickly and then sat down and watched the news again. 

Sherlock looked over. "Are we done fighting now?" he asked.

John nodded. "Sorry," he said quietly. 

"Are you taking a date to the party?" Sherlock asked.

John looked over at him. "I'm taking you."

"I'm sure all the girls will be jealous," Sherlock said. "Though maybe I should take my own date -- we don't want to feed any rumours."

"Who? The man from the case? I knew it," John smiled.

"I told you, I don't date married men," Sherlock said. "I guess I'll settle for you." He stood up and stretched. "I'm going to take a nap. I was up too early trying to trick you, and I need to get my beauty rest."

John rolled his eyes but smiled as Sherlock passed him. He flipped through the channels for something better to watch, lying down on the sofa.


	6. I'm Curious Again

Sherlock lay down on his bed. He wasn't sure he could sleep so he opened a book, but within a few minutes, he felt his eyes drooping. He set the book down and turned on his side and slept for a little while. When he woke up, he reached over and grabbed his phone.

_Molly just texted me. The party's cancelled. SH_

_Nice try. Get dressed please. -JW_

John was up in his room putting on something nicer. He didn't know why he was putting so much thought into his outfit. Maybe there would be some women at the party.

Sherlock got up and slipped into the bathroom to shower. He went back to his room and got dressed, fiddling a bit with his hair. He came out of the room and made himself a cup of tea.

When John was finally satisfied he came down and joined Sherlock in the kitchen, pouring some tea as well. "We don't have to stay all night," he said.

"You look pretty," Sherlock said. He bent down and pulled two bottles of wine out of the cupboard. "Should we take one of these? That's the sort of things you do at parties, right?"

"We should take one," John nodded. "And thanks. You too," he added quickly before busying himself with getting his coat.

Sherlock chose the wine that he liked less and got his own coat. "Let's get a taxi. Make sure you have money for the cab back because I'm serious that I plan to drink a bit and I bear no responsibility for my behaviour."

"I have money. Let's go before we're late," John said. "And I told you I'll be drinking too so who knows what'll happen."

"Well, just make sure I get home," Sherlock said. "I plan to sleep in my own bed tonight so if you get stupid or run off with some woman don't do it without getting me home first." He hailed a taxi and gave the driver Molly's address.

John ignored him. He climbed into the cab and just looked out of his window.

Sherlock took a few deep breaths as he stared out the window. He would never admit it, of course, but what he really feeling wasn't actually annoyance, it was nerves. He hated situations like parties because he never felt comfortable. He didn't know how to behave around people, which normally he just accepted, but at parties it was like he was just being reminded over and over of his inabilities. 

When they arrived, Sherlock presented Molly with the bottle of wine and let her take their coats. Then he just stuck close to John, following him as he went to get them drinks, following him back into the other room to stand near a window.

"See? It's not so bad," John said. "We can just talk to Molly -- and look, Greg is here too. We don't have to talk with strangers." 

"I just like talking with you," Sherlock mumbled quietly, but tried to make a friendly face or at least not a grimacing one. Lestrade came over and chatted with them for a while, talking about a possible case. This at least was interesting to Sherlock. He listened carefully but still stood a little too close to John. Even though the subject was one that Sherlock was confident about, the fact it was occurring at a party still made him feel a little uncomfortable. 

"Hey," Lestrade said as he looked over to the other side of the room. "I want you to meet someone." He motioned and a man walked over. Sherlock looked up and immediately recognised him.

"Damien Wise," Lestrade said to the man, turning him towards John and Sherlock. "I'd like you to meet --"  
  
"Sherlock Holmes," the man said, smiling. He stepped forward with his hand out, but he didn't shake Sherlock's. Instead he leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Sherlock Holmes, I've not seen you for . . . a very, very long time."  
  
Sherlock stepped back awkwardly. "This is John Watson," he said. "Doctor John Watson." He turned a bit towards John. "We work with Lestrade sometimes."

When the man leaned in to kiss Sherlock's cheek, John watched frozen, fighting the urge to push the man back a bit. Sherlock was really not going to like that. Only then the man spoke and John realised that there was some kind of history. Oh my God. He forced himself to say hello, to shake the man's hand. Then he imagined the two of them having sex and he made a strange noise that caused everyone to look at him. "Oh," he said embarrassed. "Um, my drink is empty so I am going to get another one," he said. "You two catch up and . . . and I'll be back." Greg followed him.

Sherlock watched John leave and wished he hadn't.

"A doctor, eh?" Damien asked, smiling.

"We work together," Sherlock said, looking back over at him. "You surprised me -- what are you doing in London? Did the job not work out?"

"Of course it worked out," Damien said. "I’m just visiting my sister. She knows the woman having this party . . . Molly, I think."

"Yes, Molly," Sherlock said quickly glancing over at her. "We work with her as well."

"Seems like a lot of work going on in your life. You know what they say, all work and no play. . ."

Sherlock made an annoyed face. "You know I like working. And you?"

"The job's going well. Best decision of my life."  
  
"Good," Sherlock said. "I knew it would be."

In the kitchen, Greg looked over at John. "I know, it's surprising, right?"

John looked up. "What is?"

"Sherlock dating. Well, he used to."

"I . . . yeah, he told me that already," John said, noticing Greg's surprise. John poured himself a drink and took a large swallow from it before filling the glass again and pouring a second one for Sherlock. He walked it back out and saw the two of them chatting. "Here you go," he said, standing too close to Sherlock, looking over at the other man. There was no drink for him. 

"Well, it was good to see you, Sherlock. And to meet your . . . friend," Damien said. He patted Sherlock's arm, holding it for just a minute, and then excused himself from the group.

"Is it time to go yet?" Sherlock asked John.

John watched the guy leave and then made sure he stuck close to Sherlock for the rest of the time that they were there. Even when he went to refill their drinks, he had Sherlock tag along. They spoke to Molly for a bit, then saw Greg one last time before John decided they could go. He couldn't relax anyways. He kept glancing at the man that had been speaking to Sherlock -- _his old boyfriend_ \-- and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He wanted to go back home, to their home, and be alone with Sherlock. 

Sherlock was glad to get out Molly's flat -- it felt easier to hear, to breathe, to just _be_ as soon as he and John were out on the street. He got a cab and they headed home.

"Are you drunk?" Sherlock asked John in the taxi.

"Only a little," he said, looking over at Sherlock. He couldn't stop picturing him with that man and then he realised he wanted to be the other man in the vision. "I'm curious again."

"I thought you might be," Sherlock said. He looked over at John and smiled a little. "Let's wait until we get home, okay?"

John nodded, looking out of the window again and trying to organise his questions in his head.


	7. You Know What This Is

Once they got back, Sherlock led them into the flat. He moved to the kitchen and opened the other bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. He brought one to John on the sofa and then sat down in his own chair. "All right," Sherlock said. "Shoot."

"Did you have sex with him?" John asked, getting right into the heart of it.

"Interesting opening question," Sherlock said. “You know I did, John. That's the kind of thing that happens when people date."

"Who . . .I mean, who started it?" John asked. He was used to being the one initiating things, except with a few more confident women he'd been with. But with two men, John couldn't imagine how it'd go.

"Who started what?" Sherlock said. "The dating?" He thought back for a moment. "I think we were introduced by a mutual acquaintance. It was at uni, a long time ago."

"No, I mean . . . I meant the sex," John said.

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "We just . . . both started it, I guess." He glanced up at John. Taking a sip of wine and then a bit of a deep breath, he said, "Do you know . . . what it is? I mean, it's a pretty similar process to what you're used to, I presume. Maybe one person might initiate it one time or not, but it's not . . . I mean, if both people are into it, it happens." Sherlock wondered what precisely John knew -- or wanted to know. 

John thought about the videos he had seen. "Is it always so . . . rough?" He had never considered two men could do it missionary before seeing it in the video, but even that had been legs forced back and open, someone standing and grunting -- he flushed and felt his cock stirring so he gulped more wine and shifted a bit.

"Who said it was rough?" Sherlock said. And then he noticed John's shifting and no longer meeting his eyes. Aha. Sherlock had known John watched porn but had always assumed it was for the women. Why was he watching gay porn? Interesting. Sherlock thought about all the questions John had recently had and his reaction to Damien tonight. Very interesting. "No," he said finally. "It's not always like that."

John made a face and considered that, tried to imagine two men being slow and careful, murmuring instead of grunting. He knew that with a man and a woman, it wasn't always sweet -- sometimes he played games with women and they liked things harder and faster. But two men -- was there still a delicacy involved? "What about . . . doesn't it hurt?"

"Do you like hurting the women you have sex with?" Sherlock asked. 

"No! I just mean . . .it's supposed to go there. I mean, they have . . . bodily functions that make it easier. Men don't. I assume there's a lot of lube involved but still . . ."

"Okay, hold on," Sherlock said. "First off, you're right -- there's plenty of things that prevent it from hurting. But it's not just . . . there's a lot to sex -- a lot I'm sure you've done yourself. It's not just _that_."

John looked over at him and imagined foreplay. "How do you . . .is the foreplay different?"

"Close your eyes for a moment, John," Sherlock said, shifting a little bit in his chair. "I just want you to use your imagination for a moment."

"That's not . . . I don't want to do that," John said quickly. He didn't want Sherlock to try to explain it to him like that.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Perhaps you could tell me what exactly it is you want?"

"Want? I don't want anything. I was just curious, I told you," John said.

"Blow jobs, then. Hand jobs, kissing, the usual," Sherlock said.

John flushed, his mind playing each one of those things with him and Sherlock. "Okay. So you do that and then . . . the main part. So . . .who tops? How do you know the other person is the opposite of you?"

"Presumably the two parties have spoken at some point, John," Sherlock said. He smiled. "I feel like you're waiting for me to say something that you can't understand or imagine, but I can't. Two men go out on a date and like each other. They go home and sit next to each on the sofa. They kiss each other. Body parts are touched. Clothes come off. Mouths are used. A condom is used. Not all that different to what you do, I bet. That's pretty much it." He looked over at John. "Except that's not it, is it?"

John bit his lip and swallowed the rest of his wine, getting up for more and hurrying back into his seat. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's not just Person A does this and then Person B does that and that's what sex is. It's more than that," Sherlock said. "It's more." 

"That's what sex is though. Just people doing . . . different things."

"True, but don't make it sound mechanical. Perhaps it is for heterosexuals -- is that what you're saying?"

"No! It's not mechanical," John said. "It just . . . happens."

"Well, that's the same for . . . everyone," Sherlock said. "Things just happen." He finished his glass and then topped it up. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," John said, looking over at him.

"Have you thought about it before . . . with a man, I mean?"

John looked down at his glass and shrugged. "I watched it online, just to see," he admitted.

"Well, I think you know that porn's not generally realistic," Sherlock said. "But anyway, that's not what I meant. Have you thought about _your_ doing it with a man?"

"I mean, I've imagined it because you kind of have to when the movie plays," John confessed.

"I don't think you're legally required to," Sherlock said smiling. "Well, what did you think?"

"I told you -- it all looked rough. A lot of pushing and shoving and grunting." He flushed and stared at his drink.

"So you'd be interested if it weren't like that?" Sherlock said. "You don't have say if you don't want . . . despite the fact that you've been grilling me about my sex life for the last few weeks. . . "

The guilt trip.  John sighed and shrugged. "I'm not . . .I mean . . . I'm not gay," he mumbled.

"Right," Sherlock said. "Right." He took a sip of his drink.

John looked up. "Why are you saying it like that?"

"I'm not saying it in any way," Sherlock said. "Except that maybe you're not as ‘not gay’ as you think. Or maybe that issue isn't quite as important as you think it is."

John thought about what Sherlock was saying. It was true that it didn't matter to him anymore -- all of his protesting seemed silly now. He wanted Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock to kiss him and touch him and he wanted to touch Sherlock and he wanted Sherlock to do relationships so they could be in a proper one where no one could take them away from each other.

But it was too late now. It was so different and his proper first time . . . it had been so awkward and wasn't it too late for another one? He shook his head and stood for more wine, wobbling a bit as he went to the kitchen. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said quietly.

Sherlock watched John pass and then waited for his return. "I hope I haven't made you feel uncomfortable," he said.

John shook his head. "Thank you for answering my questions," he said, hoping that would be the end of it all.

"You know the thing that's oddest about your whole bout of curiosity?" Sherlock asked, finishing his drink and stretching his legs a bit.

"What's that?" John asked, drinking slowly.

"Well, it's been a long time since I really thought much about sex . . . I didn't really miss it," Sherlock said. "But you've . . . reminded me."

John blinked at him. "So, you're going to go find someone because . . . you want to do it?"

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "Just thinking about it again is unusual enough."

John looked down again and nodded. "Well, I won't ask questions again. I think . . . I'm all done now."

"Are you?" Sherlock asked. He stood up and took his glass to the kitchen, rinsing it in the sink.  
  
John got up and took his own glass to the sink, assuming they were done drinking for the night. All for the better really, because he was slightly lightheaded.

"John," Sherlock said, turning to face him. "There was a lot of talk about sex this evening."

John rinsed his glass slowly, swallowing hard and keeping his gaze fixed on his own hands. "I know," he said quietly. 

"I may go into my room now," Sherlock said. "And think about it."

John licked his lips lightly and tried not to think about Sherlock going into his room to masturbate. "I -- well, I'll go to bed too," he said. He glanced at Sherlock's hands as he turned the water off.

Sherlock moved closer to John. He reached his hand over and stroked John's arm lightly. "Come to my room with me," he said. He leaned in a little more, moving his hand to John's cheek and held it.

John shook his head, mostly out of disbelief. "I can't," he said, backing away from him. But he only hit the counter and suddenly the kitchen seemed too small. The skin that met Sherlock's was on fire.

"Of course, you can," Sherlock said. He leaned in and softly kissed John's neck, moving his mouth slowly to John's ear.

John squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shuddering and ragged. The heat spread to every nerve in his body. "I . . . Sherlock . . .I don't know how . . ." he breathed.

"I'll show you," Sherlock said. He grabbed one of John's hands and stepped towards his room.

John gripped Sherlock's hand and didn't move. "I can't . . . I don't want to be an experiment for the night," he said quietly. He forced himself to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"You know that's not what's going on," Sherlock said. "You're not my experiment and I'm not yours. You know what this is."

John looked down at their hands and nodded lightly. "Okay," he whispered, pushing away from the counter and allowing Sherlock to pull him into his room.


	8. You've Always Been Different

Sherlock walked them to his bedroom, turning quickly once they were inside to face John again. He lifted his hands to John's cheeks, cupping them softly, as he leaned down and kissed John's mouth. It was a tender kiss but at the same time sent an electricity through Sherlock's entire body.

John closed his eyes when Sherlock's lips met his own. The heat that was spreading through his body erupted into a fire. He lifted his hands and rest them on Sherlock's chest as he slowly kissed back.

Sherlock let his hands slide into John's hair deepening the kiss. He pressed his body even closer. Even if they stopped now -- even if this kiss was all that ever happened between them -- it'd be worth it to have crossed this line.

John moaned softly, his fingers curling and gripping Sherlock's shirt and chest. It wasn't the same at all. This was so much more . . . so much better than anything he'd ever felt with anyone else.

Sherlock let his hands slide down John's arms and nestled around his waist. His mouth moved to John's neck again, nuzzling the skin. He could taste John -- John was a man Sherlock thought he knew very well, but now he was tasting John and he filed the new details into his brain to remember again in the future.

John tilted his head with a huff of air, his eyes blinking rapidly as he refused to close them. He wanted to see Sherlock, to see everything and know that this was real. He was still holding on to Sherlock tightly.

"Let's lie down," Sherlock mumbled, walking their bodies toward the bed. He turned and let them fall onto the mattress. A part of him wanted to immediately rip all their clothes off and speed things up. But he also wanted to take it slowly -- not just for John's benefit -- but to savour every moment.

John shifted to get more comfortable, marvelling that he was in Sherlock's bed, that he was with Sherlock this way. As Sherlock continued to kiss John's neck, John let his hands roam lower. Over Sherlock's sides, down to his hips, and then back up again to lightly tug at the fabric. He wanted to touch Sherlock's skin. 

Sherlock pulled on his own shirt, untucking it from his trousers, and did the same to John's. He slid one hand along John's waistband, gripping the skin on his hip. He kept kissing and sucking on John's neck, feeling the weight of his body on John's.

With Sherlock's shirt free, John pushed his hands into the fabric. His skin was soft and warm. He slid his fingers over Sherlock's bare sides, the dips in his belly and up to his chest. When his hands slipped over nipples, he gasped softly but a voice in his head reminded him that it's the same. He went over them again, teasing gently.

Sherlock smiled at John's tentativeness, while feeling his excitement grow. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensations of John's hand on his skin, places John had never touched before. He let his own hand slip under John's shirt, covering his sides and chest, as Sherlock dropped his mouth to kiss the bit of John's collarbone that he could reach. "I'd like to take this off," Sherlock said, pulling back and starting to unbutton his shirt. "Okay?"

John nodded. "Yes, okay," he murmured, watching as Sherlock's shirt fell to the floor.

Sherlock grabbed one of John's hands and lifted it, pressing it on his chest as he leaned back down, kissing John again. "Your touch feels good," he whispered softly. 

John flushed lightly and moved his hands over Sherlock's torso again.

Sherlock squeezed his arms around John, pulling their bodies together. He kissed John's mouth again, pushing his tongue inside. His body felt warm and he wanted more.

John moaned loudly and pushed up against Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the man's back and gliding his fingers along the muscles that he felt moving.  

Sherlock put a little space between them and reached a hand down between their bodies, palming John through his jeans. He kissed him again and then whispered, "Okay?"

John nodded. "We can . . . we can take those off too," he said. He met Sherlock's gaze and smiled softly.

Sherlock unbuttoned John's trousers and opened the zip. He moved and pulled his jeans all the way off, leaving his pants on. Then he took off his own trousers, throwing them to the floor. He shifted a little so they were lying the right way on the bed and went back to kissing John. His hand moved to John's crotch again, gripping his cock through the material. John's hardness was making Sherlock even harder.

John moaned into his mouth, imagining Sherlock's slender, lovely hands wrapped around the outline of his cock. It was enough to make him harder, to make him start leaking onto his pants. He wanted to touch Sherlock as well. Ironically this would be the most familiar thing of all. They had the same parts so he knew how to touch a cock. He pulled out of the kiss and worked at Sherlock's button. "I want to touch you too. I want to try the things you talked about," he said.

Sherlock smiled, helping John. He pulled off both of their pants and let his fingers hold John properly -- the skin was soft and warm. "God," he moaned. "John." He began stroking him.

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock, hot and heavy in his hand, and he stroked slowly to match Sherlock. "So . . .this is foreplay with a man?" he teased, leaning up to kiss Sherlock's mouth. He was getting more comfortable, braver in his movements. 

Sherlock hummed. "Seem kind of familiar? You practice on yourself enough," he whispered. His hand kept moving as he covered John's neck and chest with kisses.

John nodded. "You feel better," he murmured. He sped up his hand a bit, memorising every inch he was touching. He wondered how well he would do with his mouth. He remembered the videos -- guys taking them down into their throats -- and he flushed. He knew he wouldn't be able to do that. Would Sherlock push his head like the other men in the video? 

Sherlock let his hips rock with the rhythm on John's hand. "It's good," he mumbled. He moved his hand to his mouth, licking his palm and then returning to his stroking. He dropped down and sucked lightly on John's nipples, moving even a little lower, kissing the top of his stomach.

Sherlock's mouth felt incredible on John's skin. "That's . . . keep doing that," he murmured.

Sherlock smiled a little against John's belly. He moved lower, lifting John's cock to his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip. He moaned lightly at the taste and smell of sex -- it'd been so long. John could no longer reach him, so Sherlock shifted a little, pressing his own cock against John's leg.

John gripped the bed tightly and squirmed under Sherlock. "Sherlock . . . oh God . . ."

Sherlock licked John's cock up and down and then covered the end with his tongue again. His hand gripped around the base. He took more of John into his mouth, moving his tongue on it. He lifted up, stroking, as he said, "Is this how you like it?"

John nodded. "You . . . what you're doing is fantastic," he murmured. He laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair and tugged softly, holding onto him.

Sherlock moved his head in rhythm, using his other hand to spread John's legs a bit. He held John's balls softly, rolling them in his fingers.

John arched and bucked into his hand lightly. He really, really loved Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock pulled his mouth from John's cock and slowly moved back up John's body. "Want to try something different?" he asked softly.

John nodded. "Yeah, I do," he said. He lifted up a bit and kissed Sherlock's mouth hard.

Sherlock rolled to John's side, lying back. "What do you want me to do?" he said.

John sat up and looked down at Sherlock, letting his eyes travel all the way down. "I want to try what you did, with your mouth," he said quietly.

Sherlock smiled. "All right," he said. "You can do whatever you want." He ran a hand up John's arm and then over his own belly as he waited. Inside he was desperate though, already imagining the feeling of John's mouth on him.

"You won't . . ." John paused and licked his lips, moving down a bit lower. "Don't push my head, okay?" he asked it softly, leaning down to kiss Sherlock's hip.

"John," Sherlock said. "This is us, not a movie, okay?"

John pressed his forehead to Sherlock's hip and nodded. "Just . . . be patient," he said. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's cock and brought it to his mouth. He licked the tip, around the head, then opened his mouth and sucked Sherlock in. He bobbed up and down slowly, taking in as much as he could. 

"Fucking hell, John," Sherlock gasped. "Sorry for swearing but fuck, that feels good." He reached down to touch John's shoulder.

John could have sighed with relief. He used his hand for what he couldn't fit, keeping a steady rhythm. He didn't mind the taste so much because he was making Sherlock feel so good and that was amazing. 

"John," Sherlock said again. He let his body rock just a bit on the bed. He closed his eyes and memorised everything that was happening. It was so good. Why hadn't they been doing this from the first day?

John moved with him, breathing him in as he lifted and licked up the whole shaft. His hand held Sherlock's hip, squeezing and rubbing the skin. 

Sherlock slid his hand from John's shoulder to his own hip, lacing his fingers with John's. "John," he said softly. "I'm sorry . . . it's too good . . . you might need to stop . . ." 

John gripped Sherlock's hand and pulled off slowly, kissing his hip again. "I'll get better," he smiled. He crawled up slowly. "I can practice," he smiled wider, kissing Sherlock's mouth softly. 

"I'm not sure I can handle better," Sherlock said smiling. "For someone who claims to have never done that before . . . you do it very well." He turned and faced John, reaching down and lightly stroking his cock again.

John flushed. "I hardly . . .well, if you liked it that's what matters," he smiled. He reached down to stroke Sherlock as well, holding his gaze. "What's next?" he asked. He remembered Sherlock saying that it wasn't 'someone does one thing and then someone does another' but he liked this. For their first time he liked that there was a plan. 

"We could do more of this or we could go to sleep," Sherlock said, snuggling into John's neck. "Or we could try something else new. We could try, you know, . . . _that_."

John turned his head into Sherlock's, biting his lip. "I want to try all of it," he said. He wondered how they would do it. "How . . . which way do you like better?"

"Whatever way you want to do it," Sherlock said. "I want to do what you want . . . at the moment, of course, let's not get carried away and assume this is a long term desire. I'm probably never going to like your boring films on the television, you know." He looked up and smiled cheekily.

John gazed at him, touching their foreheads and looking into his eyes. "I don't know," he murmured. He was nervous again. He wanted to go back to Sherlock's guidance.  

Sherlock gave John a kiss. He leaned over him to the bedside cabinet, stretching his arm to the back of the bottom drawer. He reached around and found what he was looking for. He leaned back on the bed. "Lube and condoms," he said. "They've been there a while, but I'm sure they're fine." He poured some lube into his hand and then stroked John's cock for a few moments. "Does it feel nice?" he said.

John nodded. "Everything has felt so good," he said. He pushed into Sherlock's hand. "What's next?" he asked, kissing along Sherlock's jaw and down to his neck. 

"I'm going to touch you in a place that might be new," Sherlock said softly. "If you don't like it, you can tell me. If you do like it, I'll keep doing it." He smiled.

John bit his lip and nodded. "Should I turn or . . . or move a different way?"

"Lie back," Sherlock said. "Just be comfortable." He kissed John's neck and chest again as he kept stroking John. He let his fingertips caress John's thigh and then dropped his hand between his legs. He rubbed John's balls, brushing his fingertip over John's hole. "Remember . . . it won't hurt once you're ready." He kissed John's chest again, flicking his tongue against his nipple.

John arched his back and gripped the bed. "I trust you," he murmured. He felt the muscle responding to Sherlock's touch, and he forced himself to relax.  

"Kiss me again," Sherlock said, hungrily moving his mouth over John's. "Mmmm," he hummed. His finger moved over John, feeling each of his reactions to the newness.

John panted softly into the kiss, returning it with equal urgency as he brought a hand up to bury into Sherlock's hair. He liked his hand there. It made John feel closer to Sherlock. 

"Relax," Sherlock whispered as he pushed a fingertip in gently. "It might feel unusual but shouldn't hurt," he said, kissing John's neck. "Feel okay?"

John nodded. It was definitely unusual but he was right, it wasn't painful. He took deep breaths and tried to hold still.

Sherlock moved his finger further in, watching John's face. Then he stilled it and thought of an idea. With his other hand, he rolled the bottle of lube towards John. "You touch me too," he said, shifting himself so John could reach him.

John spilled some lube onto his hand and bit his lip, reaching between Sherlock's legs. He massaged lightly before pushing his finger slowly inside, an odd feeling when he was experiencing it himself at the same time.

Sherlock made a small noise at the intrusion but tried to keep his focus on his own hand. He was moving his finger in and out -- John's muscle relaxing a bit now that he wasn't concentrating only on what was happening between his own legs. "I like the feeling," Sherlock mumbled against John's neck.

"Me too," John murmured. "I like that . . .that it's together," he added, moving his finger slowly like Sherlock was.

"Do you feel like you'd like to . . . let me try? Does your body feel relaxed?" Sherlock asked a little breathlessly. In truth, Sherlock was ready -- he was so ready -- and the feeling of John's finger was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He needed to be inside John, but only if John was ready -- his body as well as his brain.

"A bit more," John mumbled. His need was almost out weighing his nerves. He wanted Sherlock so much he could hardly think straight.

Sherlock softly pressed a second finger in. "Is this . . . different?" he asked.

John nodded. "Not just because of what's happening. It's different because it's you," he mumbled, closing his eyes as he was opened more. He wondered if he should follow his lead. "Feels good," he assured him.

Sherlock felt his hips moving a bit in reaction. "John, I need . . . can I?" he asked, his voice almost a low moan.

John nodded. "I need you too, Sherlock. I'm ready," he breathed. And he really was. He had never wanted anything more.

Sherlock kissed John's mouth, long and hard, and then slid his fingers slowly from John's body. He shifted himself and reached for a condom. He spilled more lube into his hand and rubbed between John's legs again. He lowered his body, resting on one hand near John's shoulder, and used the other to press himself into John -- very slowly -- leaning down to kiss him as he did. "Just keep breathing," he whispered.

"Sherlock -- fuck," John moaned loudly, staying still and breathing like Sherlock asked him to. It wasn't painful, exactly, but he could feel himself being stretched.

"John," Sherlock exhaled. It felt so good -- better than it'd ever felt before. In fact, he thought he might come immediately until he followed his own advice and focused on his breathing. He squeezed shut his eyes and concentrated. Then he opened them and looked down at John. "I think I've loved you from the start, you've always been different . . . I just didn't think about this being a part of us . . . but it's right, it feels good," Sherlock said. He hadn't intended to say it, but he didn't take it back because it was all true. 

John held Sherlock's gaze, blinking rapidly as his breath hitched in his throat. Sherlock loved him. He brought his hands up and held Sherlock's cheeks, pressing their foreheads together as Sherlock moved slowly into him. "I love you, too," John said. He kissed Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock left his forehead against John's. His mind was turned off now -- it was rare indeed that Sherlock gave his body control but now he did. Desire and urgency took over and he moved a bit more intently into John. "God, John," he panted.

John panted with him, sharing the air between them. One hand twisted into Sherlock's hair, holding him close, while his hips moved with Sherlock's. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. It wasn't rough at all. It was perfect. His free hand went between them, stroking quickly. "You . . .it feels so good. I'm . . .I'm close. . ."

Watching John touching himself was too much. Sherlock's hips started to move a little faster. He pressed his head against John's and moaned, "Come, John, please."

John nodded, breathing faster and faster as he gave in to the building heat in his body. He came hard between them, his body squeezing around Sherlock as he moaned and called out for him. He forced his eyes open so he could watch Sherlock. 

Sherlock let go as well -- his whole body seemed to shudder and then freeze before softening and collapsing. He caught his breath, pulled out, and then lay down again next to John. He lay there listening to them both breathe.

John reached over and held Sherlock's hand as they both lay on their backs for a moment. John had just had sex with a man. With Sherlock. He was sore and it was the best feeling in the world. Lying beside him was still too far. He turned on his side and then he lay on Sherlock, draping an arm over his stomach and resting his head on Sherlock's chest. 

"You feel okay?" Sherlock whispered, wrapping an arm around John's shoulder.

"Yes," John nodded. "It was . . . great. I feel great. You?"

"I feel good, too, John," Sherlock said. "Sleepy but good. I forgot how much energy that takes," he added, smiling.

John smiled. "It wasn't so different after all. Not how I expected," he said. 

"I hope that's a good thing," Sherlock said. "It was different for me."

"It is a good thing," he nodded. He kissed Sherlock's chest. "So . . .are you reconsidering relationships then?" 

"Well, let's face it, we were really already in one, weren't we?" Sherlock said. "I mean, you hang around me all the time, try to boss me, nag me . . . it's really only this that was missing." He pinched John's arm lightly so he'd know he was teasing.

"I only nag when you give me reason to," John protested, smiling wider. But he also realised that Sherlock was right. Everyone had seen it except him. "I'm glad you showed me this, too. I'm sorry I was so . . . stupid before."

"Not stupid," Sherlock said. "Just slow. But I suppose I didn't know either . . . about this part, I mean. I hadn't thought about this being the difference."

"How was it different for you -- I mean, was it . . ." John asked. He didn't know what he wanted to say. Sleeping with a man was new for John, but sleeping with Sherlock was different. He didn't know how to explain. 

"It was entirely different," Sherlock said. "Not just because it's been a while. It's because you're you and, you know, you're just . . . you." 

John nodded. "I know. That's what made it different for me too. You," he said. 

"That and the anal sex, of course," Sherlock said, laughing a little at himself.

John pinched Sherlock's rib. "It wasn't like anything that I saw in the videos."

"I also had no idea you've been watching men -- I mean I knew about the porn but I just assumed . . ." Sherlock confessed. "You're a real mystery, John Watson."

"I was curious about how they -- I mean, I knew where everything went, but you know. The mechanics, I guess." 

"And now you know first hand. It's logical really . . . do what feels good," Sherlock said. He wiggled a little under John to get more comfortable. "Do you want to sleep in here?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh yes," John said easily, tugging the covers up to cover the both of them. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "That's okay. It'll be okay." He moved a bit away from John. "I need the toilet before we go to sleep," he said, getting up slowly.

"Is it okay?" he asked, lifting onto his elbow. Why had he said it so many times? "I just didn't like the thought of being away from you now." 

"Of course it's okay, you numpty," Sherlock said. "I asked you because I wanted you to." He moved to the bathroom and then brought back two bottles of water. "Drink a little so you don't have a headache tomorrow." He got back into the bed.

John flushed, but he smiled stupidly and buried into Sherlock's pillow until he heard him coming back. He chugged half of the bottle before lying down close to Sherlock again, arm draped over his waist again. "Good night," he said. 

"Good night," Sherlock said. He moved a little closer. "I meant what I said," he whispered.

"Me too," John whispered back, kissing his shoulder.


	9. You're Going To Be The Death Of Me

John dreamt about being with Sherlock again, only this time they were having dinner and they were watching movies cuddled on the sofa and they were holding hands down the street. When he woke up he breathed in Sherlock and smiled, not opening his eyes just yet.

When Sherlock opened his eyes he saw John. John had slept in his bed. Because they'd had sex the night before. He just wanted to remind himself. "Morning," he said softly. "I know you're awake because you're smiling."

"I can smile in my sleep when I'm having good dreams," John smiled wider. He opened his eyes.

"Still okay with everything?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. He kissed Sherlock's mouth softly. "Are you?"

"I am," Sherlock said. "No headache?"

"No headache," John smiled. He lay down on his back and held Sherlock's hand again.

"And how's the rest of your person?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrow a little.

"Well . . . a little sore, to be honest. But I don't mind it. It's a reminder of what we did -- what we are now," John said.

"A bath might help," Sherlock said. He stretched a little. "I suppose I should offer to get the tea." He rolled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown. "Back in a moment."

John smiled and held onto him until he couldn't reach him anymore, watching him leave. He sighed happily, closing his eyes again to wait for him. He sprawled across the whole bed -- Sherlock's bed -- and smiled.

Sherlock clicked on the kettle and then went into the bathroom. When he returned he handed John his mug and set his down on the table. He grabbed his phone and climbed into the bed.

"There's a text from Lestrade," he said, skimming it over. "Idiot. Apparently he slept at Molly's last night and now he cannot find the key to his flat."

John looked over at him, wondering if he was serious. "He wants you to go?"

"I have a key," Sherlock said. "Do you think he stayed because he was drunk or because of Molly?"

John smiled. "I think because of Molly. I've seen it slowly happening," he said.

"How embarrassing for everyone involved," Sherlock said. "Look, do you want to take a bath and I'll just go quickly? I could bring back some breakfast or something, though please don't think that's a habit I'm introducing into the relationship, me getting you breakfast. It's really a one-off, you know, since . . . this is special." He got up and started getting dressed.

John smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good. Just text me when you're on your way so I can be out of the bath, okay?" 

"Will do," Sherlock said. "Stop nagging me," he added, smiling. He took a quick shower and started getting dressed. 

John kissed Sherlock before he left, then again for a bit longer than he meant to, before going into the bathroom. He filled the tub with hot water, before sinking in with a sigh. He closed his eyes, remembering all of it. Sherlock had taught him well. Now he wanted to prove it. He smiled. He couldn't wait until Sherlock came back.

Sherlock met Lestrade at his flat, unlocking the door, but insisting on keeping the key he had stolen from him long ago. He felt somewhat smug about having proved the theft was helpful. He nipped into a bakery and got a pastry for John and a tea for himself which he drank as he walked back home.

He was surprised not to see John in the sitting room. He took off his coat and called John's name.

John opened his eyes and quickly got out of the water. "You never texted!" he called out, drying himself off quickly. He put his dressing gown on and came out to meet him.

"Sorry," Sherlock called. "I was busy." He looked over at John and smiled. He looked quite handsome with his hair wet and messy. "Did the bath help?"

John nodded. "I was going to ready a surprise for you," he smiled.

"Was it food? I told you I'd bring breakfast," Sherlock said. "What's going on?"

"No, not food," John said. He leaned up and kissed Sherlock, then pushed to kiss him harder as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed into the kiss. "That's a nice surprise."

"This is not the surprise yet," John said, leading Sherlock back to his room. He kissed Sherlock hard again, his hands working to quickly remove his clothes.

"John Watson," Sherlock said with genuine surprise. He let John do what he wanted, standing still as John unbuttoned his shirt.

John pushed his shirt onto the ground and started on his trousers.

Sherlock helped John, wiggling a bit until his trousers hit the ground. "Now what?" he asked, smiling.

John palmed at Sherlock's cock through his pants. "I want to do it to you," he murmured.

Sherlock smiled. This indeed was a surprise. He hadn't been sure how things would go now. He'd wondered if perhaps last night had actually been about John's curiosity and had worried at some point John would confess the truth -- that despite his emotional tie to Sherlock, he wasn't really interested in more sex. He was glad John was answering his questions for him. "Okay," he whispered, giving John a soft kiss on the mouth.

John pushed his pants down as well and led him to the bed, pushing him down on top of it before pulling off the dressing gown and climbing into Sherlock's lap.

Sherlock kissed John as he squeezed his arms around him. "This is nice," he said, dropping down and sucking on the skin of his neck.

John moaned softly but switched so he was kissing Sherlock's neck, moving down over his shoulder and chest, sucking and biting lightly at his nipples.

Sherlock let John's weight push him back on the bed. He rested a hand on John's arm, just enjoying what John was doing to him. He could feel himself getting hard already.

John moved lower, bringing the lube bottle with him as he kissed down Sherlock's stomach and into his groin, lightly sucking on his cock again. His hand, meanwhile, moved between his legs and his finger pushed gently into Sherlock. There was no need for guidance this time.

"John," Sherlock moaned. He brought a hand to his face and covered it for a moment, before taking a deep breath and looking down at what John was doing. "It feels good," he mumbled, reaching out and touching any part of John that he could reach.

John pumped his finger steadily, and he focused on what he was taking into his mouth, trying to take in more than last night.

"John, wait . . . it's almost too much," Sherlock said. He looked down and smiled. "I'm out of practice," he said softly. "And you're making me feel so good." He reached his hand down and just held his own cock for a moment, concentrating on John's finger inside him.

John kissed at Sherlock's hip and inner thigh instead, gently pushing in a second finger.

Sherlock pulled his legs further apart, rocking against John's hand. He realised that he could easily come just from this, so he closed his eyes again and focused on his breathing while enjoying all the feelings.

"I've been thinking about it since last night," John admitted, stretching his fingers.

"Mmmm," Sherlock moaned softly, not sure he could complete an entire sentence. "Worried for nothing . . ." he said trying to make some kind of sense.

John smiled softly and curved his fingers to brush Sherlock's prostate, something he knew he could do well. He sat up a bit and reached for the condoms. 

"Fuck John," Sherlock called, his body arching slightly off the bed. "Please. . . ."

John rolled a condom on and used a bit more lube, getting nervous now because this was going to be the really different part. He lined up and pushed into Sherlock slowly, both hands gripping the bed by Sherlock's shoulders as he tried to control his breathing. 

"Slow," Sherlock said, even though John was moving slowly. It was just that it'd been so long since this had happened. He did his best to relax his body and then lifted his hands to hold John's face. "You feel good," he whispered.

John gazed down at Sherlock, moving even slower than before and really wanting this to feel good for him. His words were comforting. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You feel so good too," he said. 

"I like this . . . I want this to be us now, okay?" Sherlock said.

John nodded, kissing Sherlock again as his hips found a slow, steady rhythm. He moved into the tight heat of Sherlock's body, moaning softly with every push. He was so close already.

Sherlock slipped one hand between them, stroking himself. With the other hand, he pulled John's head towards him, kissing him hard. Then he dropped his head back, closed his eyes, and started to let himself go.

John watched Sherlock as he let go, moaning as he felt Sherlock squeezing around him and coming onto their bellies. He closed his eyes and let go, pushing into Sherlock as he came as well.

"God, John," Sherlock said, panting heavily. He wrapped his arms around John tightly, holding him closely. "You're going to be the death of me, I swear." He kissed the side of his head. "Did you like that?"

John nodded against Sherlock's shoulder as he caught his breath, curling his arms to hold Sherlock's shoulders as he lay over him.

"John," Sherlock said softly. "I really am out of practice with all this. I can't promise you . . . you know, this kind of business every day."

"I just wanted to do it . . . to try it all," John said. "To show you I paid attention last night."

Sherlock slid their bodies a little so they were lying face to face. "I don't need any more evidence to know that you know precisely what you're doing in this department. I loved all of it." He gave John a soft kiss. "Don't stop being curious."

John smiled. He snuggled against him and let his eyes close

"Some things are going to be different now, John," Sherlock whispered. "But I have a feeling a lot will be just the same." He squeezed him close. "I love you," he said softly.

Whatever changes happened after this, hearing that was the only one that John cared about.


End file.
